


After the World Was Won

by rynling



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rynling/pseuds/rynling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Setzer encounters Daryl a year after the fall of Kefka's Tower. What happened to her, and why didn't she want to be found?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Chance Encounter

The fortunes of the port city Nikeah had improved drastically after Kefka's tower had fallen. The international economy picked up as the wind and water currents stabilized. Nikeah found itself at the center of the world, and its shipping and banking industries flourished. The city had always been split between the grandeur of the noble hillside mansions and the salty warren of dockside brokers and shipmen's quarters, but the sudden influx of people and capital transformed Nikeah into a bold exaggeration of its prewar splendor.

Setzer Gabbiani had established an airship research and development facility on the flat, windy plains east of the castle city of Figaro. Advance orders had poured in, and the engineer found himself in the middle of a flurry of activity. He had come to Nikeah to square his finances with one of the banks that had managed his enormous wealth before the war, and he now walked through the university district, admiring the changes that had transformed the face of the city.

Setzer sat on the marble ledge circling a fountain in the middle of a marketplace piazza and looked out into the crowd. His face was famous, and normally he would have attracted a great deal of attention, but in the bustle of moving bodies he was able to remain unnoticed. With a pilot's trained eye he scanned the buildings surrounding the open market, noticing how several had been repaired not with stone or brick but with metal and glass. Even in an old city like this, the world had moved on.

Suddenly, a face in the crowd forced itself into his attention, and the shock was so great it felt like a physical blow. It was unmistakably her. Her hair was short, and her clothes were bland, but the proud tilt of her chin and lithe coordination of her movements could belong to no one except Daryl. Setzer swiftly rose to his feet, never allowing his gaze to leave her. Across the expanse of cobblestones and over the heads of the crowd, their eyes met. Daryl seemed momentarily unsure of what she was seeing. Setzer stepped forward. Daryl turned and shoved her way through the crowd away from him. Setzer dashed after her.

Daryl was light-footed and knew the paths of the city, and she had a significant lead. Still, Setzer had lost none of his speed in the year since Kefka's tower crumbled, and he quickly gained on her while darting between the clusters of people that separated them. Daryl fled into the shadows of a small side street, and it was there that Setzer caught up with her. He grabbed her arm and drew her to him, softening the impact of her suddenly canceled velocity with his body. Daryl immediately pushed herself away, but he caught her hand before she could run again.

Still gripping her wrist, he wordlessly pulled her into a small, nondescript café fronting the alley. Inside, the place was dimly lit through a dirty window. It had the dusty air of a vanity bar run on the bottom floor of the residence of a retired bourgeoisie. A scratchy jazz record played as Setzer forcibly steered Daryl to a small table behind the front window. He sat down opposite her, his hand clamped over hers. They were the only customers. An older man with an overgrown mustache and a ratty gentleman's robe emerged from a back room and shuffled over to their table.

"I want a bottle of your house red," Setzer said in a tight voice.

"Very good, sir. Would you like one glass or two?"

Setzer looked at Daryl. "Better make it two," she sighed.

As the owner returned to the back room, Daryl clenched her fist underneath Setzer's grip. "Is this how you greet your friends now that you're a hero?" she asked.

"I would let you go if I weren't afraid you'd run off the second I did."

"Well, you've got me. I'm not going to run away."

Setzer slid his hand back across the table as the café owner returned with a bottle. The vintage was common and cheap, but the owner made a show of uncorking the wine and pouring it into their glasses. The pair sat without speaking as he returned to the kitchen. In the sudden silence, Setzer looked absently through the window, tapping his fingers on the table. Daryl looked at her reflection in the wine glass as she twisted its stem between her fingers.

Finally, Daryl raised her glass to her lips. She took a sip and grimaced. "Since when have you been the kind of man to order the house wine?"

"You'll have to forgive me. It seems I'm not thinking properly right now."

"It would appear not. Did you drag me in here just to brood?"

Setzer fixed his gaze on her. "Where have you been?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"I don't see how it's not my business. I've been looking for you for almost five years."

The open hurt in his eyes was evident to Daryl, who looked away. The jazz record continued to play as they sat at an impasse.

The café owner eventually reappeared.

"Will there be anything else?"

"Yes," Setzer replied, placing five 10,000 gil coins on the table. "I want you to do me a favor. I want you to put a 'Closed' sign on the door, lock it, and then go somewhere else until the two of us leave. And turn off the damned record player."

"Very well, sir."

When the two were alone again, Setzer turned to Daryl, who had finished her first glass of wine and was pouring a second.

"How is it that I finally found you here, of all places? I spent almost a year scouring the ocean and every inch of coastline on this continent for you. I found every single piece of that airship, but I never found the slightest trace of you. I disbanded our company in Vector just to seek out any information I could find. What the hell have you been doing, hiding here?"

"This is where the Serpent Trench carried me after the Falcon fell. I managed to stay at the wheel until the ship hit the sea. The water landing went smoothly, but the speed was too great. I was thrown into the ocean."

"I'm not surprised. The entire bow of the ship was pulverized."

"I apparently washed up on one of the lower docks of the city. I woke up in one of the rooms in a dockside brothel. It seems I was unconscious for several months."

Daryl offered no further explanation. After a moment, Setzer spoke up, cautiously choosing his words. "That's amazing. I trust you were well cared for. What happened when you woke up?"

"I lived happily ever after in a gingerbread house. What do you think happened? The brothel madam decided that I owed her, and so she drew up a contract for me to pay her back."

"That shouldn't have been a problem," Setzer interjected. "But when I asked after you at your investment agency, they said that no one had touched your account."

"Obviously not. Can you imagine how many lovely young women suddenly sprung out of the woodwork, claiming to be me?"

"Not only can I imagine, I have an exact figure. I asked that everyone claiming to be you be reported to me. They were an interesting collection of beautiful women, with a few rather fetching young men thrown in for spice."

"And I wouldn't put it past you to have treated them all very kindly after you were introduced." Daryl laughed humorlessly. "But think, you were halfway around the world, and I had nothing to call my own and nothing to prove my identity."

"And so how did you fulfill the terms of your contract?"

"How do you think?"

Setzer glared at her, his frown a hard line across his face.

"Don't be an idiot. I didn't have any money, I didn't have anywhere to go, no one knew me, and there was a group of unpleasant gentlemen always hanging around to make sure none of us suddenly decided to head for the hills. The world can be a very small place when you don't have an airship, Setzer. Kindly consider that I was in a strange state of mind, having just survived an airship crash. One might even say that I was somewhat distracted."

Setzer drained his wine. He produced a silver flask from one of the inside pockets of his overcoat. He unscrewed it and poured a generous amount into the empty glass.

"I'm finding all of this hard to believe," he said, handing the flask to Daryl.

"Fuck you," she replied, drinking straight from the flask. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Were you so distracted that you couldn't send a simple letter by carrier pigeon?" Setzer asked, meeting her eyes across the table.

"Right. About that." Daryl gazed out through the window. "You had vacated any sort of permanent address by the time I was able to do so. I got no response from Vector, which I suppose was inevitable, what with that girl general of theirs burning cities while Cid experimented on human subjects. Nothing was going into the city, and all that was coming out were soldiers and nasty rumors. Meanwhile, you had apparently taken up chasing opera singers, so you'll forgive me if I decided to keep my head low."

"So to speak."

"Aren't you a charmer? In any case, it wasn't long before I found a patron who bought out my contract and offered to help me set up my own business. I took him up on the offer and opened an apothecary in one of the lower districts here."

"The great Daryl Highwind, engineer extraordinaire, mixing potions."

"I don't know why this surprises me," Daryl replied, keeping her eyes blank and her voice even, "but it seems that you don't appreciate what war can do to a woman. What could I have done if I had returned to Vector? Would I have been drafted into service under Kefka? What if I went to South Figaro? I'm sure they would welcome a former employee of the Empire with open arms. I surely wouldn't have been held hostage, or interrogated, or imprisoned. Or murdered in the night, for that matter. And all the while, you were floating around in that ridiculous airship of yours, blithely ignorant of everything. Quite frankly, you disgusted me."

"In my defense, there was a reason I stopped contracting for the Empire."

"That's not good enough."

"Is it enough that I saved the world?"

Daryl sighed. Setzer put his elbow on the table and rested his face in the palm of his hand.

"This isn't turning out the way that I had hoped," he muttered.

"I guess not." Daryl lightly traced the rim of her wine glass with her finger.

Neither of them said anything for several moments. Setzer broke the silence. "So what are you doing now?"

"I'm a researcher in chemical engineering at the university."

"I suppose that doesn't bring in a great deal of money."

"I suppose it doesn't."

"I suppose you might be suffering financially at the moment."

"I suppose that might be the case."

"Well then," Setzer declared, pushing his chair away from the table and rising to his feet. "Let’s go."

"Excuse me?"

"Sitting here with you like this is depressing me. We're going to the bank."


	2. A Reversal of Fortunes

"I can't believe you dragged me here," Daryl whispered.

"And I can't believe you think you're too bohemian for this. I never thought you'd be one to spring for the starving artist gig," Setzer muttered back to her.

"Starving scholar."

"Well then, starving scholar, do me a favor and let me do the talking. I don't want to be here all day."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a swine of a human being?"

Setzer and Daryl stood side by side in the lobby of the headquarters of Nikeah's largest bank. Setzer had immediately been greeted and attended to when he first strode through the doors of the building, and his sudden demand for a meeting with the bank's president had been met with a polite request to wait for just a moment. Setzer seemed completely at home in the lavishly appointed lobby. Daryl cut an almost pathetic figure beside him in her cheap coat and secondhand boots. She wore no jewelry, and her hair had been tousled in a rather unromantic way over the course of the afternoon's adventures. Nevertheless, she too seemed unimpressed by the building's interior.

The bank's president came out to greet them himself. As he strode across the lobby floor, his eyes moved from Setzer to Daryl, and a look of unease crossed his face in the briefest of instants.

"My fine sir, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? Surely nothing has changed since our meeting earlier this afternoon?"

"On the contrary, I remain in your debt," Setzer said, shaking the man's hand. "I simply need to speak with you for a moment in private. The matter concerns my friend here."

"But of course," the president said unctuously. His flesh jiggled as he led them across the lobby.

Once in his office, he closed the door as they settled into chairs in front of his massive desk.

"Now then, how may I have the pleasure of serving you?" he asked, folding his hands in front of him.

Setzer began with no preamble. "This is Daryl Highwind. As five years have not yet passed since she was declared missing, I believe you still have an account open in her name."

"We certainly do," the president said smoothly. "However, it is no simple matter to hand over the passbook to someone with no proof of identity."

"So you've met before," Setzer mused. He took a sheet of stationary and a pen from the desk in front of him. "Daryl, you've always been good with numbers. Surely you remember your account number and access code." He handed the paper and pen to her, and she scribbled down the information before handing them back to him. "Certainly this is proof enough," Setzer remarked, forcefully sliding the sheet across the desk.

"But you must understand, sir, that with no verification – "

Setzer cut him off. "Does my word not qualify?"

"Certainly, sir, but there are dozens of forms – "

"Which Dr. Highwind will deal with at her convenience. The purpose of this meeting is to ensure that the proper ownership of the account is restored to your client and my friend. Do we understand each other?"

Setzer glared at the bank president. Gone was the amiable gambler overly fond of high-stakes bets and high-proof alcohol; this man had been scarred in countless battles and survived the horrors inside Kefka's tower. His eyes flashed.

The president's smile vanished like a cheap match extinguished in wine.

"As you wish. I will return immediately," he said woodenly, brushing past the pair and out of the office.

After the president nervously closed the door behind him, Setzer sat back in his chair. "I do believe that man has known you for some time," he remarked.

"Ah. So it seems that a lifetime of reading faces over poker hands has finally proven itself useful to you," Daryl replied, unimpressed. "Anything else?"

"Judging from the way he looked at you, I would be willing to bet that he was the patron who paid off your contract."

Daryl said nothing.

"Perhaps it's time that this bank came under new management."

Daryl sighed. "Money talks."

A junior manager entered the room and presented Daryl with a set of papers and an official seal, apologizing profusely all the while. After being escorted from the office with a sizable withdrawal and promises of remuneration, the pair was approached by numerous apologetic managers on their way out. Finally they found themselves standing in the plaza in front of the building. The sun was low in the sky behind them.

Daryl faced Setzer. "So it seems you saved me. What a prince in shining armor," she said, frowning. "I don't imagine you know how it feels to have some hero swoop down unannounced. I suppose I should thank you, but I must admit myself unimpressed by machismo."

"I think your hero is going to start drinking, and he's not going to stop until he's convinced that everything that happened today is real. Or passes out. Whichever comes first."

"That sounds about right, doesn't it?"

"Unless I can persuade you to join me for dinner?"

Daryl met his eyes. "You know, I really appreciate what you did for me today. But the past few years have been rough. Perhaps you'll understand when I tell you that I have more pressing concerns than dinner."

"Even with me?"

"Even with you."

"So."

"So."

"I guess this is it then."

"Yes. It is."

"You know, it doesn't have to be dinner. Maybe we could get a drink sometime?" Only a slight twinge in Setzer's voice betrayed his desperation.

"Goodbye, Setzer."

With that, Daryl turned and walked away. Setzer stood and watched her until she vanished into the crowd, unable to find the strength of will to run after her.


	3. Words and Deeds

"I heard that an ancient city was just discovered in the mountains next to Zozo."

"That's so interesting! But it's probably filled with monsters, right?"

"No way, stuff like that is just in fantasy stories."

"Magic turned out to be real. Or maybe the cataclysm was just a fantasy story?"

"The end of the world was real, obviously. But all the men who fought Kefka being single? That's pure fantasy."

Daryl smiled bitterly to herself. Her lab assistants, who has spent their entire lives in Nikeah, knew little of the realities of the world outside the boundaries of the city. Even as the planet slowly lost its vitality, they could exchange lighthearted banter.

"Hey," one of them spoke up, "did you guys know that Setzer is here now?"

"What?" Daryl interjected, jerking her head up from her notes.

"Well, I mean, he's got that company that makes airships? Apparently he's here recruiting employees. The university is holding a reception to welcome him this evening."

"Of course he gets a reception," Daryl muttered darkly, shaking her head. Her students continued to chat as she returned to measuring the acidity of her soil samples.

After the fall of Kefka, it was impossible to avoid Setzer's name. The airship research and development facility he had set up was wildly successful, supporting itself through fulfilling commissions. The complete annihilation of the imperial city of Vector during the war had witnessed the destruction of not only the vast majority of aircraft but also the engineers who constructed and maintained them. Setzer was one of the few people with the detailed technological knowledge and financial capital necessary to launch new ships into the sky. Both his fame and his charm had drawn many aspiring engineers to him, and his company had no rivals. His talent for management had ensured the financial stability of even such a seemingly Icarian venture. If there was one thing Setzer loved more than figuring out ways to fly higher and faster, it was having money to play with.

After her disregard for the limits of technology had resulted in the malfunction and subsequent crash of her prototype airship, Daryl had hated Setzer for his blithe freedom. She had once scanned newspapers for articles about him, burning with resentment. He made stupid, impulsive decisions, and the world rewarded him. Over time, however, his name meant nothing more to her than the names of any of the other heroes of the war. Her chance encounter with him a year ago was more of a nuisance than a godsend. She had no trouble making use of her restored access to her old account, but she resented Setzer's assumption that she needed the money; her current research would have made her more money than any residual patent royalties. And yet, knowing that he would be here made her nervous.

The late afternoon light streamed through the laboratory's west-facing windows and created bright outlines around the glass tubes and beakers on the table in front of her. She paused in her work and allowed the soft chatter of her assistants to wash over her. Suddenly a sharp knock sounded at the door.

Of course this would happen, Daryl thought to herself before adjusting her face into a smile and standing to greet the visitors. The university dean and her department chair were leading none other than Setzer Gabbiani.

The dean filled the room with his booming voice, introducing Daryl and her students, who stood awkwardly at attention. The department chair, who had given Daryl her doctorate and then immediately hired her, explained her research to Setzer in the tones of a senior scholar habituated to lecturing. The dust and ash thrown into the air by the recent seismic activity resulting in the shift of continents had not cleared from the atmosphere, and the correspondingly acidic rains had rendered the majority of the world's arable soil increasingly arid. Although it had taken many months for the aftereffects of the war to fully manifest themselves, food shortages would soon become a critical problem. Daryl was developing a chemical fertilizer that would reverse the effects of the polluted rain. Even though this fertilizer was extraordinarily cost effective, the chair explained, the patent alone had the potential to become a goose of the golden egg laying variety.

Daryl fought to keep a polite smile on her face. Of course the holder of this patent would be the university, not her. Her name would be attached to a publication, perhaps, but only under that of the department chair, who was effectively her managing director. Her assistants would be lucky to be mentioned at all, and neither she nor they would see more than an annual bonus in their stipends incommensurate to the value of the project.

As the chair recounted facts relating to volcanic ash, Daryl felt like rolling her eyes. Did this man honestly think Setzer had not accounted for such problems in his designs for gas bags of his airships? Did he think that Setzer would not have made significant adjustments to the rear engines of the ship, which would be directly in the wind stream pathways of fine particulate matter? Daryl could see Setzer struggling to maintain his own posture of attentive deference. He met her gaze, a corner of his mouth upturned in the shadow of a smile.

At a small pause in the chair's words, Setzer took the opportunity to interrupt him. "I believe Daryl and I have met before," he smiled. "And I am familiar with her research. It's my understanding that one of my employees may have borrowed from it rather liberally for a rather specialized application." He turned directly to Daryl. "Perhaps we could discuss the matter at the reception this evening. I would love to hear more about your work."

The light from the windows shone silver on his hair. His eyes sparkled with poorly disguised amusement at the facade of treating her as a mere acquaintance. It was a private joke they shared, his eyes seemed to say. Daryl's ossified resentment cracked, and she felt her artificial smile melt into something more genuine. Still, Setzer's assumption of the closeness of the bond between them chafed at her. He wanted something from her, and he assumed he would get it.

"Maybe another time. I would love to discuss this project with you and my assistants if you could come back tomorrow morning. If you'll excuse me, we're working under a bit of a deadline right now, unfortunately." She turned to her students, who nodded their heads in assent.

"Well then," the dean interjected. "We do have other places to be. Thank you for your time, Daryl." He shook her hand and headed back to the open door, followed by the chair. Setzer hesitated, as if he were considering shaking her hand himself, but in the end he merely flashed a perfunctory smile and walked out after the dean and the chair.

Almost as soon as the door had closed behind him with a resounding thud, Daryl's assistants relieved the tension by laughing loudly, all of them at once.

"At least now we know that part of the stories about him is true," one of them remarked. "He really is gorgeous."

<>   <>   <>   <>   <>   <>   <>

Draining his wine glass, Setzer found himself trapped in a conversation he didn't have the energy to escape. Normally he thrived on being surrounded by people, but Daryl's rejection of his invitation had disheartened him. He had come to this university under the pretense of hiring new recruits, but his true desire has been to see her. Seen her he had, yet all he could do during their brief conversation was look at her with longing. She had every right to turn him away as firmly as she had. How was it that he still loved her, after all this time?

One of the waiters circulating through the banquet hall appeared at his side and refilled his glass with the cheap red wine being served at the reception. The party had gone on into the evening, and the academics in attendance were growing loquacious as the gas lights dimmed and the staff became more generous with the wine.

Setzer sat in the middle of a small circle of professors who possessed either enough social grace or enough narcissism not to be awed by his presence; they did not defer to him but instead spoke to him freely. He had initially found this refreshing, but they were beginning to wear on him.

A scholar of one of the ancient epic cycles detailing the War of the Magi was expounding on the trope of the trickster god, whose role was aid the heroes, even as he seemed to hinder them with his self-centered diversions.

"This character is an outsider," the professor explained, "and has a close connection to flight and the winds. In his gifts to the heroes, he demonstrates an awareness of technology that seems out of keeping with the general setting. It may be magic, or it may be so hypertechnological as to appear as if it were magic." The scholar laughed, his breath reeking of alcohol. He was past the prime of middle age, with a slack face and graying hair. "What do you think of this character?" He glanced slyly at Setzer.

Setzer raised his glass in a token toast to the professor. "I see your analogy, and I will admit it's very clever, but I'm afraid that I'm going to have to disagree with your implied equation. If I were to fit myself into an archetype, perhaps it would be that of the glory-king, powerful and triumphant. But of course things are described differently in the stories that are told about the war. I read that I am a gambler who fights with cards and dice, as if luck alone were enough to carry me through battle. I read that I was a lost cause, rescued from myself twice by the wiles of a beautiful young woman, as if a pretty smile is all it takes to change the course of one's life. Should I write my own history, then, and make myself the hero? Should I write a confession and describe what it's like to be a fugitive, always worried that a sudden ambush at the next landing will be the end of everything? Perhaps accounts of small defeats and near escapes and hunger and unwashed clothing don't set the appropriate tone. Should I instead tell stories of honor and battle and phallic swords half as tall as I am? Perhaps I will write something, when I am older and need to publish my boasts to convince people to sleep with me. For now, though," Setzer concluded, rising to his feet, "I have better things to do."

The evening had progressed in spite of itself, and Setzer hadn't been given an opportunity to eat yet. What a waste of a night in Nikeah, he thought to himself. On his way out of the banquet hall, he lifted two glasses of champagne from a silver tray and passed quickly through the shadows lining the walls in order to escape unnoticed.

As he walked quietly through the university's halls, he wondered at his actions. Was he really heading for the destination his feet led him to?

Without knocking, he pushed open the door of the laboratory he had visited earlier that afternoon. The harsh glare of an electric lamp illuminated Daryl, who was perched on a stool next to a high table and bent over her writing. She turned toward the sound of the opened door.

"I thought I might find you here," Setzer said.

"I thought I told you I wasn't interested in going to the reception tonight," Daryl responded as Setzer crossed the room.

"That makes two of us then." Setzer offered her a champagne flute, and she accepted it.

The two sipped their drinks in silence until Setzer blurted out, awkwardly, "Come work with me."

"You want me to work for you?"

"No, I want you to work with me. I want you to be a partner in my company."

"Why should I do that?"

"I think you know perfectly well."

"And what if I don't want to?"

"Do you really want to stay here?"

"Asking me to choose between the lesser of two evils is hardly an appealing proposition."

Setzer set his glass down on the table and took Daryl's hand between both of his own. The bright white electric light highlighted the bruised darkness under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks.

"Daryl, I'm sorry," he began. "I'm sorry for everything that's happened to you. I'm sorry that I didn't find you, and I'm sorry that what you went through wasn't immediately cleared up as a misunderstanding. But you didn't need me to save you, and you still don't. Please forgive me. Please work with me."

Daryl was surprised to hear Setzer speak so earnestly, for once in his life. Although she wouldn't meet his eyes, she made no move to withdraw her hand from his. The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable.

Setzer released her hand and picked up his champagne flute. Daryl looked at him, but the moment had passed. "At the very least," he smirked, "I won't claim the money you stand to make from your research."

"It's all about money with you, isn't it?"

Setzer laughed. "What good is luxury if you don't have money to spend on it? Speaking of which, I think I'd like to get away from this place. Eating alone would be pathetic, so I'm not going to leave until you agree to go with me."

"You're not giving me much of a choice."

"Dinner on the waterfront is hardly equivalent to a choice between two evils. We can talk about soil and chemical fertilizer. We can talk about flying, and cloud seeding, and how you will save the world."

"How could I refuse such an opportunity?" Daryl smiled as she climbed off her stool.

"It's settled, then." Setzer grinned and once again offered Daryl his hand.


	4. The Promise of an Evening

True to his word, Setzer had reserved a table at one of Nikeah's waterfront restaurants. Not being one to settle for the merely adequate, he insisted on occupying the entire balcony terrace. The staff had cleared all but one table overlooking the bay, which sparkled with the reflected lights of the city. Setzer waved away the offered menus and left everything to the chef. Daryl consented to make small talk until the sommelier presented them with wine.

As the man's footsteps faded, she remarked, "I see you've lost none of your taste for extravagance."

Setzer smiled. "Consider this a display of entrepreneurial promise."

"So the enterprise you've launched has prospered. How sweet this success must seem to you."

"Was our former venture so ill-fated?"

"Our former venture was swallowed by an empire with an insatiable hunger for airships, and now you've set yourself up in Figaro, another kingdom that's distinguished itself by its territorial expansion. You must forgive my qualms concerning your judgment in this matter."

"A valid point. As perspicacious as ever." Setzer brought his glass to his lips in acknowledgment of the weight of his former partner's words. "The difference in the two situations is that, in this case, I happen to be very good friends with the king."

"And has this royal friend of yours given you the capital to launch your venture?"

Setzer laughed. "I am more than capable of supplying my own capital. Of course, I was never one to turn down incentives when offered."

Daryl smirked. "Did this invitation from your friend happen to be accompanied by a large commission?"

"I have received several large commissions." Setzer leaned forward to refill Daryl's wine glass. "At the moment, however, I find myself severely short of staff. Perhaps you'll lend a sympathetic ear to my predicament when I say that I am in dire need of trained and qualified engineers."

"I see."

"I also foresee a future shortage of test pilots."

"It would be nice to fly again."

"I wouldn't be surprised if you found yourself unable to resist the allure, but if you prefer to stay grounded you'll find that the dashing young king of Figaro is extraordinarily interested in turning his desert into arable land. If you don't feel that I can reward your work handsomely enough, you can always work directly for the castle."

"I'm still having trouble accepting that you fought alongside the king in the war."

"Ah, but I did."

"So you helped save the world."

"Yes."

"You."

"Yes."

"So you fought monsters with a sword."

"Fantastic, I know, but true."

"So you learned to use magic from a rock."

"I find it somewhat bizarre myself."

"You didn't spend the whole time drinking and gambling."

"There might have been a bit of drinking and gambling."

"Honestly."

"I also learned to cook, have you heard stories about that?"

"You're aware that this is becoming increasingly difficult to believe."

"I assure you that I am completely and utterly serious about my acquisition of culinary skills. Perhaps you would be more likely to believe me if I confessed that I learned in the company of two beautiful young women?"

"How much did you bribe them?"

"They volunteered of their own accord."

"Because you're such a catch, obviously."

"That's the first sensible thing you've said all evening. More wine?"

"Do you think making me drink will help you persuade me to join your venture?"

"No. I believe I've already convinced you. Now I'm simply trying to get you to sleep with me."

Daryl sighed and took a generous sip from the glass in front of her. "Setzer, instead of hiring another engineer, perhaps you would be better served by employing someone else to do your recruiting."

 <>   <>   <>   <>   <>   <>   <>

Midnight found the pair strolling down the moonlit streets of Nikeah. Setzer had offered Daryl his arm, and she had taken it. They whispered to each other like conspirators as they approached Daryl's townhouse, a stately building with a tiny yard enclosed within a wrought iron fence.

"Your tastes have grown more bourgeois since we last met," Setzer remarked.

"Is it open cynicism I detect in your voice, or were you trying to hide it?"

"I thought I was being clever."

"It pays to keep up appearances."

"Showing off for the local gentry?" Setzer suggested as Daryl held the door open for him.

"More like not giving anyone an excuse to bother me."

The inside of the house was a mess, with books and papers strewn about between empty bottles and discarded clothing.

"If this is your foyer, I'd hate to see your bedroom," Setzer remarked.

"Somehow I doubt that."

"Is that an invitation?"

Daryl didn't respond, and Setzer followed her as she strode through the front room and into a kitchen. She kicked open an icebox and removed a bottle of sparkling wine, popped the cork without fanfare, and turned to find Setzer already holding out two glasses for her.

"It's the rear garden that's the real mess," she said as she poured. She escorted Setzer through the back door and onto a patio threatened on all sides by vegetal overgrowth. Through the tangle, the outlines of statues shone in the moonlight.

"The previous resident was something of a collector, apparently," she offered by way of explanation.

"My gods, Daryl, I'm not sure whether I should berate you for your gross negligence of your property or praise you for diligence in hiding those monstrosities."

"I didn't bring you to my house so that you could insult it. Why don't you content yourself with toasting our new partnership?"

"Allow me to do so, then." Setzer touched the rim of his glass to hers. "Here's to quitting this bloated city and returning to the open air."

"A noble toast."

The pair drained their glasses, and Setzer looked at Daryl askance. "Perhaps I should warn you that this is the part where I drag you off to bed."

Daryl laughed. "I thought you were afraid of my bedroom?"

"I can force myself to be brave. I did save the world, after all," Setzer said, and then he kissed her.


End file.
